


Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Magnificent Mischief [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Peter Hale, Creature Stiles Stilinski, Gerard only appears in reference, Gratuitious Cereal Eating, M/M, Minor Derek Hale/Paige, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski, Wereraven Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: “I thought you were working on the show with Paige tonight,” Peter said, unimpressed with being woken up and pulled out of bed.Stiles gracefully straightened up, a slight frown on his face.“We were supposed to, but Derek showed up halfway through rewrites. He wanted to take her and, I dunno, do romantic shit I guess?” He shrugged his poised shoulders. “Anyway, Paige bailed. Let’s fuck.”





	Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

**Author's Note:**

> YES the title is the opening line of The Raven because YES I am that Basic Bitch™. 
> 
> Anyway, if anyone want to start a support group for Accidental Series Writers, hmu. This will have at least one more installment. 
> 
> Also!! This will make more sense if you read Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief first.

_ Tap tap tap. _

Peter immediately came awake and alert in his dark bedroom, body tense. 

_ Tap tap tap. _

The tapping was coming from the pitch black window. Even with his shifted senses he could see nothing outside, the sound of the howling wind covering any other clues.

_ Tap tap tap. _

The clock read 1:24 a.m.

_ Tap. _

“Peter, open the goddamn window or I’m never letting you near my dick again!”

Peter sighed and rolled out of bed, stretching up to undo the lock and lift the pane. A gust of whip sharp wind ripped into the room, bringing with it a pale naked boy who swooped in from a precarious perch on the thin window ledge, glaring at Peter the whole time. Peter relocked the window, shutting out the bellows of spring, and then turned to face him, arms crossed.

“I thought you were working on the show with Paige tonight,” he said, unimpressed with being woken up and pulled out of bed. 

Stiles gracefully straightened up, a slight frown on his face. 

“We were supposed to, but Derek showed up halfway through rewrites. He wanted to take her and, I dunno, do romantic shit I guess?” He shrugged his poised shoulders. “Anyway, Paige bailed. Let’s fuck.” 

Peter was instantly interested, but also determined to make his temporary fuck buddy consider manners. 

“Most people initiate a booty call with a text or an actual call,” Peter reminded him archly. 

“I tried, but you wouldn’t answer!” Stiles protested.

“Again, _ most _ people would also take that to mean that the person they’re contacting is asleep, or otherwise unavailable.” 

“Yeah, but I know you better than that, don’t I?” Stiles said cheerfully. “I knew you wouldn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to get in these pants. Not when our time,” he put on a deep, affected sorrow, “is already so short.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. The carnival that brought Stiles and Paige to Beacon Hills would be moving on in a week, taking them with it. Every time someone brought it up with Derek, his big eyes would fill with sorrow, a cloud of doom nearly palpable around his head. 

Which, of course, is why Peter never brought it up. The intense stab of misery _ he _ felt every time he thought about Stiles leaving with Paige was immaterial. Of course. 

“If you want to fuck, you’re going to have to do all the work,” he said, lackadaisical as he turned back to bed. “I was asleep, and I’m not convinced it’ll be worth it for me to stay awake.” 

He felt the air shift behind him, rather than actually hearing anything, and the next thing he knew he was on his mattress, belly down, with a weight draped across his back. 

“Lazy, lazy, lazy,” Stiles drawled against the back of his neck, lips dragging on the nape. “Are all wolves as lazy as you?”

“Wolves are efficient in the use of their energy,” Peter corrected, relaxing further into the mattress as he luxuriated in the feeling of being weighed down. “Why put in the effort when I have a plucky little raven to do it for me?” 

He felt a sharp, deliberate little pinch of talons under his shirt as Stiles worked it off of him. 

_ “Plucky,” _ Stiles scoffed derisively as he cast Peter’s shirt away, careless. _ “Little. _ That’s not what you said last- how many times now?”

Before Peter could answer, he felt his pajama pants being peeled down with a tongue following, and the anticipation knocked his train of thought straight into the void. 

“God, I don’t know,” he eventually said. “Two weeks worth of times. Are you going to-?”

His question was answered when a hot tongue swept down the crease of his ass, lingering over his hole. Peter moaned into his pillow, hands reaching up to use it for an anchor. The tongue began working him over, reducing him to a wordless mess in an embarrassingly short time.

Peter didn’t know why a raven should be so good at rimming- it wasn’t as if birds were known for excessive tongue use- but _ god _ was Stiles _ good _ at _ rimming. _ He began by tracing lightly around the furl, slowly massaging until Peter relaxed, and then working his tongue inside with little kitten licks until it was all that Peter could feel. Peter honestly worried that his expectations for the act were being permanently ruined for anyone else. His entire being was focused down to the single point of slick heat teasing him, giving him more than he could handle but also not _ quite enough- _

Needless to say, by the time Stiles was finished working him over, Peter was desperate to be fucked.

“More,” he demanded, breath stolen by his need. “You woke me up to fuck, so fucking fuck me!” He hissed as cool air from the room hit the skin Stiles pulled back from in order to answer.

“Hmmm, impatient,” Stiles chided lightly, the lie of his tone only given away by the rock hard dick moving against Peter’s leg. “I thought you weren’t sure I would be worth your time?”

“If you don’t get your cock into me in the next five seconds, I’m shoving you out the window and finishing this booty call with Bad Dragon,” Peter threatened, craning his head around to look at Stiles with proof of how completely serious he was. 

Stiles just cocked an eyebrow, and then Peter felt two fingers breaching him. He moaned in relief, face turning back to his pillow as the sensation of being filled finally began to scratch the itch that had started as soon as he saw Stiles. 

Two fingers became three, teasing a just bit longer before a slick cockhead nudged his entrance. Peter finally relaxed, knowing he would be getting exactly what he needed soon. 

Stiles always worked his way in slowly, as if worried he would accidentally break the werewolf beneath him. 

Every time, Peter wanted to say _ Do you really think you’re capable of that? Our strength is matched, if not unequal in my favor. The care you take is ridiculous. _

Every time, he still thought it; and everytime, the concept became a little less ridiculous when he tested the hold pinning him to the bed.

Stiles wrapped his hands around Peter’s wrists, holding them down, and began to move.

The push and drag of the thick cock inside him sparked a feeling past relief and into beatific bliss. He could feel the slight tug of the wide head on his rim every time Stiles pulled back, the sensation curling along his spine only to be replaced by the intense satisfaction of being filled when Stiles pushed back in. Each drag and push coming slightly faster, building the sensations on top of each other until it was a chaotic tide of pleasure. 

The heat of him radiated into Peter’s back, warming him in a deeper way than the physical activity could. The closeness, the humidity of their bodies moving together- it was the same act Peter had participated in with almost a dozen partners, and yet _ this _ closeness, _ this _ humidity, _ this _ heat- it reached inside him and settled there. It stayed a little longer each time. 

How long would it stay the last time?

Stiles released one of his wrists long enough to lift Peter’s hips and change the angle before pinning it again. His wrist wasn’t held any tighter than before, but the spike of ecstasy from the new angle made him feel more helpless. The curling tension in his core made him clench down, trying to hold on, trying to prolong the ecstasy, but he couldn’t stop it anymore than he could stop the rising of the moon, and-

“Stiles!” he shouted, half warning and half supplication. His hands clenched as he came, twisting back to hold Stiles’ wrists just as tightly as they held him down. A moment later the grip around him tightened, and he knew Stiles was coming too. For a breathless beat they flew together, landing softly when it was over.

The weight of Stiles’ sweaty forehead laid on the back of his neck for a moment as they both panted, and he could have sworn he felt another brush of lips... but Stiles said nothing. Instead, they stayed there long enough to catch their breath before Stiles pulled out. 

Following the same path from previous visits, Stiles padded over to the en suite and waited for the tap water to warm up before brining a wet washcloth back to Peter, who hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Roll over lazy wolf,” Stiles said softly, poking him in the side. “If you fall asleep in your come then all you’ll do is complain tomorrow.” 

Peter didn’t know how he could be expected to move when his body easily weighed ten million pounds after an orgasm like that, but he managed to get far enough that Stiles cleaned off his belly, and then flipped the blankets back over him. 

He was just drifting off to sleep when the covers opened again, letting cold air in. Peter opened a single, venomous eye. Stiles looked back, unimpressed. 

“If you think I’m flying back to the tent in wind like this, you’re crazy. Besides, you can consider it my fee for giving such an amazing dicking.” Then he curled up next to Peter and closed his eyes, for all appearances immediately asleep. 

Peter just huffed and moved closer, stealing warmth to make up for the burst of cold air, and fell asleep too. 

* * *

Banging from the door was the next sound to wake Peter, and he began to wonder if normal knocking just wasn’t in vogue among carnival performers. 

“Stiles, I know you’re in there!” came Paige’s voice next.

He felt a shuffle of movement next to him under the covers. 

“I’m leaving to go back to the tent in thirty minutes, whether you’re up or not!” 

An indistinct mumble came from beside him, completely unintelligible.

The soundproofing of the room prevented any other noise from coming through the door, but Peter assumed Paige had walked away. Warm and comfortable, he started drifting back to sleep, when suddenly his cocoon of blankets was rudely cracked by Stiles sitting straight up. 

“Wait, Paige is here? At seven thirty in the morning?!” he exclaimed, reaching over to lightly smack Peter on the shoulder. “Do you know what this means? She totally boinked Derek! Paige got laid!” 

“‘Boinked’?” Peter said, incredulous as he rubbed his sleepy eyes. “What are you, five?” 

Stiles glanced down at him, still utterly bed rumpled.

“I absolutely refuse to use the word ‘fuck’ with a sexual connotation while talking about Paige. It’s just gross. Besides, you realize I’m also talking about your nephew? Do you really want to hear about how your nephew got fucked?”

Peter grimaced and sat up. 

“There are words other than ‘boink’ and ‘fuck’, you know. Sex or sleeping together, for instance. Hell, for those two you could probably even say ‘made love.’” 

Stiles’ expression went blank and unreadable for the ghost of a moment, but before Peter could look at him closer, he screwed his face up dramatically. 

“So you’re totally down for talking about how your nephew ‘made looooove’ with my best friend at seven thirty in the morning?” he proposed, eyebrows raised. 

Peter reconsidered, and changed subjects. 

“So are you going to shift and fly back to the tent without her?” 

“Nah, I might as well bum a ride,” Stiles said, finally kicking off the blankets and stretching out his long pale body. Peter watched appreciatively for a moment before remembering why he brought it up in the first place. 

“You didn’t bring any clothes,” he reminded Stiles. “So either you’re riding back naked with Paige, or-”

“-or I’m definitely going to steal your clothes.”

And with that, Stiles hopped out of bed and snatched a shirt and a pair of jeans off the floor, pulling them on and stepping out of the room before Peter’s sleep addled brain could fully catch up. 

Damn it. 

As soon as his family saw Stiles in Peter’s clothes, they were going to assume that Peter was scent marking him, which meant they were also going to assume that things were much more serious than they actually were. 

With a sigh, he stood up and sedately dressed himself. No point in rushing now. 

He passed Talia on the stairs as she walked to her office with a cup of coffee. Her single raised eyebrow said more than an entire conversation could, and the casual sip from her mug carried all the judgement of a high circuit court. 

Peter just sighed and continued down the stairs, ignoring her light chuckle. 

By the time he reached the kitchen, Stiles was helping himself to a bowl of Peter’s favorite cereal and Derek and Paige were sharing a plate of eggs and toast. Peter neatly stole the bowl out from under Stiles’ face and started eating as he walked to the fridge. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested. Peter ignored him, getting the milk back out, as well as another bowl and spoon. 

“Don’t you have graduation rehearsal today?” he directed at Derek. He sat the new bowl in front of Stiles, filling it and then topping off his own. Stiles grumbled as he re-poured the milk.

“Yeah,” Derek confirmed. “But not until later. They pushed it back to accommodate the new principal.” 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Mr. Jaffrey left?” 

Derek shrugged. 

“He decided to retire early or something. The new guy is taking over for the last week of school to get a running start on next year, Mrs. Singh said. I dunno why he wants to be a principal, he’s even older than Mr. Jaffrey.” 

Peter thought through the potential local hires, but couldn’t place who it might be. 

“What’s his name?” 

“Mr. Green.” 

Paige dropped her fork and went pale at the same moment Stiles’ heart rate doubled in time. Peter stared as he shoved the bowl to the side in order to lean across the table, intent on Derek. 

“An old man named Mr. Green? You’re sure that’s his name?”

Paige looked at Derek too, clearly apprehensive but just as intent. 

“Uh- Yeah-“

“About five ten? Mostly bald with some short white hair left on the sides of his head?” Stiles cut in again, almost frantic now. “Silver ring on his right hand? Smells almost exclusively like gun oil?” 

Derek looked confused. 

“Yeah, how did you know-“ 

Stiles was standing and yanking his borrowed shirt off before Derek could finish the sentence. Paige stood up too, face pale and full of dread.

“Stiles, _ no.” _

Peter felt the tremor of Stiles’ shift before he saw it, and leaned away in shock at the incomprehensible sequence of events. Paige clearly anticipated it though, because her hand shot out and snatched him out of the air in the same beat his transformation finished, neatly tucking him under her arm with his wings pinned. An unearthly screech of rage filled the kitchen, leaving Derek with a cringe and Peter with a sudden urge to break the girl’s grip and free him. 

“Stiles you will _ listen _ before you go get yourself killed,” she demanded. “You promised me, you fucking _ promised _ me.” 

Another screech left the raven, this time more broken than furious. Paige took a deep, uneven breath before looking back at Derek gravely. 

“We need to see him. Will he be at graduation rehearsal today?” 

“Why?” Derek blurted, obviously confused. “What are you going to do? Paige, who is he?” 

But Peter was the one who answered, speaking slowly as his mind caught up with his instincts.

“He’s a hunter. The one that killed their families.” 

* * *

Stiles tapped his fingers on the couch in an erratic rhythm. The tension in his frame was enough to make Peter’s hands itch with the desire to soothe, but he didn’t think his touch would be welcome right now. 

Not when everyone was sitting silently in the living room as they waited for Talia to return with photographic proof of Mr. Green. 

The scene was nearly comical: Derek and Paige sat next to each other primly and straight, as if they were engaging in a social call from the 50’s. Meanwhile Stiles was slouched carelessly, tapping the fingers of one hand on the couch while he gracefully flicked talons in and out of the other. And last of all, Peter had a book of crossword puzzles open on his lap, all the boxes empty with various notes from eavesdropping written in the margins. 

Stiles had not been pleased to be left behind; the murder in his eyes was evident to everyone. Peter also bristled at being ordered to stay when there was possible danger so close by. But Talia wasn’t about to let Derek go by himself, and as the parent of a student, she was the only other person with an unsuspicious reason to be on campus.

But still, that logic by itself hadn’t been enough to keep Stiles behind. After Talia left, he paced, nearly vibrating with his need to chase the man down. To exact revenge, or retribution, or just simply rid the world of a vile murderer- Peter’s guess could have fallen on any of those reasons with equal support. The only thing perfectly clear, was that Stiles was ready to _ go. _

It was only Paige physically moving into his line of vision, jaw set and eyes desperate, that stopped him. A long silent moment led him reluctantly to the couch where he currently sat. Peter wasn’t sure what exactly had passed between them; a lifetime of communication, likely. But he didn’t know for sure.

So he asked. 

“What did you promise Paige?” he said, breaking the glass-like silence, looking up from his crossword to see Stiles looking straight at him. 

“What?” Paige said from across the room, startled. Peter glanced over, but then returned his eyes to Stiles as he clarified. 

“You told him to listen before he got himself killed, and then you said that he’d promised you. What did you promise?”

It was a risky gamble, demanding an answer so far out of his business. Either they would dismiss him entirely and possibly leave the house, or one of them would get agitated enough to-

“You don’t have a fucking clue,” Stiles scoffed, harsh. “With your huge goddamn pack and all your family within shouting distance. You can’t even guess, can you?”

“You’re right, I don’t have a fucking clue. That’s why I asked.” Peter gestured at him with a lazy hand in the silence that followed, but Paige was the one who answered. 

“Stiles and I were the sole survivors of an attack that killed our families,” she said, voice almost mechanically even. “When I say ‘families,’ I mean that comprehensively. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents- all dead. All murdered. Stiles and I survived because we were playing hide and seek in the dune grass behind my house. We watched it happen. And then we ran.”

“We were ten,” Stiles cut in. “I barely had control over my shift. We didn’t have a chance. For anything. We didn’t have a chance in a fight, we didn’t have a chance of staying together in foster care, we didn’t have a chance of surviving on our own- we didn’t have anything-”

“-except for each other,” Paige finished. “We… we’ve done a lot of things over the years, to survive together. You can’t understand how desperate we were. I don’t mean that as a dig at you two specifically,” she looked up at Derek with clear, steady eyes, “you just can’t. No one can understand that kind of desperation until they’ve experienced it. But eventually, we had to make promises about how far we were willing to go.”

“We don’t take jobs that will separate us,” Stiles said, lifting up his fingers to tick them off. “We take necessities from only those who can afford it, although we haven’t had to do that for a while...”

“And we don’t do stupid shit that will lead to death,” Paige said firmly, as if closing a book. “Shit like seeking revenge alone.” 

“Then come with me!” Stiles said, leaning forward with an earnest frustration in his voice. Derek also leaned forward, with a threatening growl at the prospect of Stiles leading Paige into danger.

“Oh shut up,” Stiles flapped a dismissive hand at him. “You’ve dated her for two weeks, I’ve been her family for eight years. If you think she can’t handle herself then you don’t know her at all.”

“Just because I _ can _ handle myself doesn’t mean I want to do it with a split second notice and no planning,” Paige shot back. “I know- look, God Stiles, I know. I _ know _ what he did. I know what he deserves. I just don’t know if I can be the person who gives it to him.” 

Peter could smell the pain and frustration rolling off of Stiles, so it wasn’t a real surprise when he shot up off the couch and stalked back into the kitchen. Peter sighed, and then got up to follow him without looking at Paige or Derek. He wasn’t sure if Stiles was going to leave or not, but in either case leaving him alone didn’t seem wise. 

Stiles had Peter’s cereal again, eating it straight from the box as he stood next to the counter, body as taut as a tripwire. Peter casually sauntered up to stand next to him, leaning into his space. 

As their body heat slowly seeped into each other, Stiles’ tension began to ease off from the snapping point. He still looked ready to kill, and Peter wouldn’t trust him with a carton of eggs at the moment, but he no longer seemed on the point of breaking. 

“We don’t even know for sure if it’s the same man,” Peter said eventually. Stiles just shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s found us.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. Stiles just shook his head again, this time with a sigh. A story for another time, then. 

“If it _ is _ him, you won’t be alone, you know,” Peter said lightly. Stiles looked over to study him, and Peter took advantage of the moment to steal a handful of cereal from the box in Stiles’ hands. He picked out a granola cluster and chewed it before continuing. “We don’t allow hunters in Beacon Hills. Not anymore.” He paused, and then finally let go to say, “And even if the pack didn’t support you, I still would.” 

It was a rare moment of total honesty from him; a deeper vein of honesty than Peter was completely comfortable with, if he was being honest. Which he really, really was. He was fully aware that being willing to go against his pack’s wishes was tantamount to a declaration of love. 

For a moment of cowardice, he continued to look down into the box that he held. Then he steeled himself and looked up at Stiles to hand the cereal back. 

Stiles was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. 

Peter shook the box a little. 

Stiles’ hand reached out on auto pilot, taking the box and setting it on the counter. 

“I-” His voice came out a croak, and he abruptly stopped to clear his throat. He opened his mouth again, but no words found their way out. 

Suddenly, the door slammed in the front entry, startling both of them. Talia swiftly marched into the living room a second later, Peter and Stiles bursting in from the kitchen entrance a beat later. 

“He’s probably the hunter who killed your family, but he’s not Mr. Green,” she announced, tossing her phone to where Stiles and Peter stood. They both scrambled to look at the photo on the screen, a stab of ice lancing through both of them at the same time. 

“Gerard Argent,” Peter spat, his claws lengthening. Across the room, the blood drained from Derek’s face.

“Yes,” Talia confirmed, and then looked straight at Stiles. “We have unfinished business with the Argent family, but I believe your claim is stronger. His life is yours. If you want it, with our help.” 

Stiles looked a little shocked, but more than willing. 

“I do.” He turned to Paige, too stoic to look pleading, but the question was evident in his face nonetheless. 

Paige took a deep breath and spoke slowly. 

“If Talia and Peter will be there to back you up and help you fight, then I support you. I… I don’t want to be involved, I just want to know when it’s done. But I support you.”

Immediately, Stiles swept across the room to pull her into a hug, squeezing her tightly, her hands fisted in the back of his shirt. All three Hales found themselves looking away, feeling as though they were intruding on a private family moment. 

When Stiles finally pulled back, his eyes were bright and determined. 

“Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Derek: Oh hey you’re back early.
> 
> Talia: Principal’s a murderer.
> 
> Derek: What?
> 
> Talia, grabbing Stiles and leaving again: Principal’s a murderer.)


End file.
